


Stopping Time

by Domovoi



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics), DCU (Movies), DCU (Novels), Green Lantern - All Media Types, Justice League
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domovoi/pseuds/Domovoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hal. Bruce. Bruce and Hal. Hal. Bruce. </p><p>So, Who's really the emotionally constipated jackass and which is the overtly sex-driven maniac intent on everlasting libido-squashing, self-absorbed indifference? </p><p>Well ... Yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this for a long time. And I've been trying to figure out if I actually liked where this is all going. 
> 
> But it's not for me to say. 
> 
> Beauty is in the eye of the beholder - even the beholder who is partial, biased, uninformed, etc., blah.
> 
> I write.
> 
> You there! 
> 
> Yes. 
> 
> You.
> 
> Read.
> 
> And Please Comment!!!

So, here's the thing. 

He wasn't there yet. All of the ... - the petty shit just wasn't appealing to him. He didn't want to deal with all of the stress and pressure and tension.

Hal muttered under his breath and picked at some invisible lint realizing that those three words all meant the same thing.

'Fucking moron'

'You, or the other guy?'

'You, you idiot. The other guy doesn't give two shits about your stupidity, get over yourself.'

'Hey, shut up, the other guy isn't a shitbag like you. The other guy is fucki- '

Hal realized he was two parts fucked up, no parts able to swear less. 

He picked at more of the invisible lint and swore just a little bit when he realized it. Which only intensified the muttering and non-lint harvesting he couldn't seem to rid himself of. He might end up scratching through the damn suit at this rate - not that anyone would notice. 

Everyone was focused on what was apparently a real tragedy. Plenty of crying and wailing, and sobbing at nothing. (Damn the redundancy, he was going to tear fabric soon if he didn't stop with the triumverate obstinacy)

Hal sighed - loudly enough that more than a few attendees turned or leaned to glare at him, and fuck if he was going to react to such moronic elitism, the bastards - and relented the dust plucking. 

Granted, this was a funeral. Some old guy had died of old age, natural causes, whatever; the guy probably hadn't done a single goddamn thing daring or dangerous, or perilous in his entire color-in-the-lines-think-outside-the-box-but-never-go-out-of-the-box existence. He would most probably have bored Hal half to death just sitting in the same room making small talk about his four thousand great great great great grandchildren whose names he knew all - and their birthdays and their favorite colors and foods and animals. What bullshit.

Actually, it probably meant he was a man who put his family first. He was probably a chump, but he respected his wife, he worked hard, and he was loved for it.

So Hal accepted the overt lugubriousness of it all as understandable, natural, whatever. (Hey, an adjectival phrase absent of this developing repetitious, insistent and verbose badinage - oh, wait. Dammit.) (Dammit once and a half.) (Not really) (whatever)

Yeah, anyways, back to the petty shit that was really irritating him in the first place?

The thing to do would be to ignore it. Plain and simple. Sure as hell, the other guy was and would be. Damn the man. He probably had gotten over it the second it was over. He probably never thought about their whole ordeal - even being the fucking brooder that he was. Damn him. 

Hal cursed himself as well. He was acting like a needy, possessive douchebag and making the other guy seem like a sleazy ass.

[Oh, God. That man's entire body was so beautiful; no exception to his ass.]

Hal remembered what it was like to have that Herculean beast everywhere; on his chest and legs and face - inside him. Fuck, but it made Hal so hard just thinking about it. 

And then he remembered he was at a funeral for a dead guy. 

And where the hell was Carol anyways? Hal would never have gone to such a mind-numbingly boring shitfest if she hadn't dragged him along. He'd rather be exospherical, hurling constructs at ugly space freaks - not that any hostility had or would spill itself so close to Earth. The League would clean it up anyways. What Hal needed was intergalactic crises to call him away from this monotonous masquerade and the planet housing it - far, far away.

He thought back to those last furtive moments when he had asked him to stay. The bastard almost had - it was a long silence, and he had even turned and looked back at Hal, right into his eyes, making Hal's body leap with hope inside. (So, who's really the chump) And then the other guy was gone. He had escaped as insidiously as he had entered. 

And that's what it was like every other time. The other guy never stayed and Hal always left. It wasn't that Hal felt like that part in particular almost washed the rest away. It was gut-wrenching torture. They knew what they wanted and that they didn't want the same things, and they managed to work it out. The whole 'no strings attached' blah was nothing new. It just hadn't ever hurt so much -well, it had never hurt at all - before.

Damn that man. Hal had finally had something that made sense. And not because it had to or he wanted it to, it just did. Everything clicked into place - like the way their bodies seemed perfectly sculpted to fit each other's. Hal hated the cheesiness of it, but it was true. 

Time stopped when he was with him.

Even if they were only sitting there, Hal felt more complete. Just seeing him made breathing easier. It made all of the useless meaningless, unimportant shit go away. 

Time stopped when he was with Bruce Wayne.

God damn Bruce Wayne.


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean?" Diana's face was impassive as she rounded on Bruce. The woman was a brutal warrior; a formidable foe even for the Batman. Her Amazonian training had instilled in her an elite offensive mind, able to scrutinize the enemy efficiently and meant to break him down quickly. 

Bruce was beginning to feel a strain in his body that he smothered with obdurate proficiency; he was getting older. No use denying it. He responded to Diana's charges methodically, but was being pushed back regardless. His tactical savvy wasn't particularly helpful in hand-to-hand combat against an unrelenting - not to mention larger - strategic, physically-capable opponent.

He would need an abrupt and sharp retaliation meant to dismantle her offensive strategy and shatter her adamant defensive buffer before she could gain or regain ground. Bruce needed a maneuver that would finish his opposition.

"He stopped seeing me," Bruce had finally responded before dropping the sparring staff and crashing into Diana with as much strength as he could muster. His head smashed into hers and he struck her wrists as they tried to close around him. His left palm cuffed her jaw and he hammered a measured kick at her stomach and snaked an arm around her waist, spinning as he threw her to the ground.

Diana laughed as she responded - maybe even a little taken aback at Bruce's ability to throw her. Her backhand left Bruce mildly fazed and she took the opportunity to kick him in the gut as well - if it was a little south, well, she could play dirty too, and Bruce wouldn't take the bait anyways. 

She sidled into a boarish hover and stalked Bruce in slow circles. He would believe he had the upper hand with quick, calculated upper-strength maneuvers, but in spite of seeming incredibly quick on his feet, the man tended to rely on a grounded and guarded stance. He looked to be light and agile, especially like this, without his armor on, but there was a minute aspect - it caused Diana to think of being stuck in something - to Bruce's gait.

No enemy of Bruce's was likely ever prone to this kind of combat with him. He would never need to be so close or vulnerable to defeat his enemies. He was wise to learn all forms of combat, especially those not immediately practical to him.

The man was no fool.

"You offended him?"

"Yes, I think so."

"And you apologized."

"... No."

Diana frowned as she pinned Bruce. He only just managed to unseat her.

"I do not understand. You disagree with him?"

Bruce huffed a mirthless laugh, "Yes. On too many fronts it would seem. I can't -" he struggled to throw Diana off of her aim for his core, "I don't understand the man. He is brilliant. And brave. But he lacks discipline. I wish he could solder even a semblance of restraint into anything he does. He frustrates me."

Diana smiled to herself - noticing a touch of Alfred. Bruce was such a simple creature.

"He frustrates you."

"Yeah," Bruce panted.

"And how does he feel about you? "

It was Bruce's turn to frown contemplatively. "I don't know."

Diana shook her head ruefully at that, "You do not see it."

"See what?"

Diana pinned him again and knuckled his forehead. She smiled at the way he convulsed at being treated like a child. 

"You are like a child, Bruce. You do not see because you are so sure. Surely, you must know how Green Lantern sees you."

Bruce signaled his abatement and they moved to return equipment to it's proper place.

"I know that he hates me now," he said quietly. "He has most likely moved on; he wouldn't take me back if I had the audacity to ask."

Bruce exhaled heavily at that prospect and sat, tracking Diana's easy movements around the room. 

Diana had her back to Bruce. 

"And how do you feel about him?"

She didn't stop but she heard Bruce's sharp intake of Breath and his steady release - only caught because she was listening for it. He didn't respond. 

She turned to look at him. He was staring at her, but she knew he was not seeing her. She leaned back against a rack and held his absent gaze. 

"How long?"

Bruce absently responded, "Six months and four days two weeks ago Tuesday ... before we .. stopped..."

"...How did it start?"

Bruce's smile was rueful. "I threw him through a wall."

Diana raised an eyebrow indicating that he should explain.

"We were in the medical bay. It was just after our last run in with Gorilla Grodd, you remember? Yes, well, recall that Flash had been injured. His leg was broken; effortlessly snapped. Hal was, of course, furious. He felt that the events that had taken place were avoidable, had he been in my place on Flash's left wing - a position I held for two seconds before the man was hardly a blur moving in.

He didn't really blame me, of course, he's protective.

He needed to let out steam and chose to do so by shouting at our strategic director for that mission - Black Canary. He made his roaring argument indicating that she had overlooked some too random ramification resulting from warring with a crazed mind-controlling gorilla. She understood his frustration and calmly replied to his loud stupidity. He was understandably angry, but he went too far.

Almost, anyways. I interrupted the altercation and removed Lantern forcefully from the room.

I tried to calm him down - not a strong suit of mine. This caused him to turn on me and we did end up brawling. The bastard wouldn't use any constructs and I had - lost control -" Bruce took a short pause at that. His eyes focused on her, weighing her and her place in this - even in spite of their existing friendship, Diana had wondered at his hesitancy. He swallowed audibly and flexed his hands.

He continued, "I guess it was actually more like a window. I am unsuprised at Hal's inability to hold against me - he relies entirely too much upon his ring - but he did fight back with some real discipline in the beginning before his movements were as savage and incompetent as his anger. He landed a punch at my jaw and made a stupid joke after which I threw him at and through one of the glass monitoring panels on the medical bay walls. He hadn't broken through the wall, obviously, but he made a respectable dent and shattered the monitoring glass.

He came to his senses ten seconds later and I came to mine ten days later. It was over a week before I resolved to apologize to him.

Obviously, there was quite a bit more tension to relieve aside from that one encounter. Which resulted in ... the weeks and months following. You fairly well know the rest." 

Diana studied Bruce for sometime long after he finished. Their sweat-soaked bodies were drying.

"Bruce. What do you feel for Hal?"

He contemptibly sat, unresponsive. And then he stood and headed to the showers.

His walk was a saunter she did not think she was meant to see - and she almost reached for him then. His head was turned down - for anyone else in the universe Diana would accept it for pensive or tired. He absently scratched at his head and rubbed his neck. 

'Yes, Bruce is a simple creature,' she thought to herself.

And then she took a deep breath and resolved to stay out of the whole ordeal. Bruce would ask for help if he needed it - or would cringe and bitch if it was forced upon him.

She sighed a final time and left as well; weighing heavy on her mind were her own entanglements and the prospect of confronting her own emotional instability.


	3. Chapter 3

"Here's the thing - wait, no wait, dammit! - here's the thing!!! ..." 

Ollie could be such an idiot - especially when alcohol was involved. He was telling some story about his adolescent sex-ventures while Barry tried to prevent him from another drink.

Hal had worked his ass off to get through school so he could have a decent life while this guy was blowing thousands of dollars on booze and sex.

And, by the way, weren't there rules about drinking on the Watchtower? Bruce would probably rip their heads off and mount them in the assembly hall as a warning to others if he found out. 

Hal sighed heavily and got up to leave. Barry had a pained look on his face trying to get Hal to stay and fend off Ollie's attempts at the beer. 

"Sorry, guys. I gotta go."

"Aw, come on, Hal, you're not gonna leave me alone with this guy, are you? He's drunk off his ass and needs to be put - down - dammit Ollie get the hell offa me! You - stop! - you've had enough!!"

"Sorry, Bar. You've got it under control, good luck with prince the-merry-wives-of-windsor. He'll crash soon." Hal promptly exited Oliver's quarters with a sympathetic grimace and left the private wing. He needed to get drunk and he needed to be alone. 

He ended up flying back to his apartment; there finding what he expected: the absence of the former of his aforementioned longings, and an incredible abundance of the latter - and wasn't that the greatest oxymoron. 

He decided to fall into bed and try to ignore the universe for a few hours. He refused to think about Bruce and he refused to do what his body was aching for. 

Until he ended up thinking about Bruce. 

Ah, the bastard was ever looming; Hal realized that he now preferred the man's annoying reprimand to this disgusting hole in his chest. At least before he had been able to get some respite, some small juvenation - which was in no way a buffer he could rely on to dampen the emotional dystopia he increasingly felt burdened with.

And before that, he was oblivious; he had no idea what Bruce looked like when he was unguarded and vulnerable and susceptible. Hal hadn't known what it was to be so gloriously attached and connected and linked to another human being in ways that were more than simply physical or emotional.

Hal idly constructed a game of marbles while he lay thinking.

Hal remembered just talking to Bruce; as with everything regarding the man, that too could be taxing.

He would sometimes sit in the Cave while Bruce worked, usually doing nothing - just that thing about breathing easier. Bruce obviously resented Hal's unnecessary presence and did let Hal know in no uncertain terms that his remaining in the Cave was a stupid risk. But he never demanded that Hal leave.

So Hal would sit. There he never spoke first, refusing to protrude or impose anymore than was necessary to be in Bruce's space while not having sex. And Bruce would sometimes ask him questions.

Usually they were about things he had noticed in Hal's apartment and either had come up short in his scrutiny or was interested in verification. Or it was League business. Either way, they were somehow left talking further, even close to laughs sometimes - most often it resulted in sex.

He switched to just ramming the marbles unto a little mass of green chaos.

They would sometimes linger for a short time in the kitchen - or kitchens - getting a drink of anything, before one of them had to leave, never speaking except to offer a drink.

It wasn't until after a few months into it that Hal had decided to get up and follow the other man out. Bruce didn't question him and had accepted Hal's offer of water or some other something. And then Bruce had done the same. From there it sort of became tradition. Another part of their little routine.

It was interesting to see him there, in the cave or manor or even Hal's own apartment. Bruce could be suprisingly domestic at times, which did nothing to ease Hal's conscience about whatever it was they were - had been - doing.

Early on in their fucked up nonrelationship Hal realized what the end game was - which was to say there wasn't an end game, hardly the players, both not completely sure of their roles. There was no scenario where Hal was happy. He knew that this thing they had - their little routine - was and would be fleeting. It was a simple matter of time.

So after a while, he caved. It was too much and not enough. It was his own fault. He made the call. He had been the catalyst and he had been the terminator.

'I guess it was the absence of anything even resembling emotion on his face that really caused everything to sink in.'

'Yup, if you thought he felt any damn anything for you, that right then was the moment you lost hope.'

'Hey, I had no hope anyways. And what would you know? You're the one who was so blinded by debauchery that you spent so long ignoring that cancerous, treacherous lump eating away at you.'

'Right, and you're the one who once thought celibacy was the answer to life's great predicament of sexual frustration, which is probably what caused you to be so overtly sex-driven during your time with him. And, by the way, do you remember how embarrassing it was to find out exactly how reticent you actually were in bed?'

'... I thought we agreed never to come back to that ... Ever. Bruce handled it suprisingly well.'

'And, by the way, where did you learn all these fucking crazy words? - debauchery?! (not to mention badinage) Okay.'

Well, it was all over now. A few months more of selfdeprecating listlessness would probably suffice to at least dampen this scorching thing in his body, and he had been contacted by Kilowog about some unrest or other in some place or whatsit - maybe Hal would use that to distract himself.

Hal let his mass of notanything dissipate and he sighed. Loudly. This would be his new little routine. Marbles and nothing.

All of the burning.

And the nothing.

All the burning and nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

"You window is open."

Hal jumped at that and shouted some indiscriminate curses.

"Jesus fucking christ, what the hell is wrong with you?" He had slammed his head on the headboard and was clutching at his skull frantically. "Do you ever make a goddamn sound? Why don't you use the door at least, or at least ring the damn bell as a warning. God, do you have a courteous bone in your body?"

Bruce torpidly scanned the room, carefully avoiding eye contact with the man before him - and how was the man still bitching and screaming after hurting himself.

"You've been busy lately."

"Yeah, I have a couple of jobs and some pretense of a social life."

"You were gone for a few months."

Hal's face looked pained. "I was on a mission with Kilowog. He asked me for help and I said yes. Is there a problem and if there is, was it necessary for you to come here and not knock? And even if it was, was this the only convenient time and place to contact me? I have a phone. And a communicator. And god dammit, get me some ice, will you? My head is going to split open!"

Again with the inability to shut his mouth even while in pain. Bruce turned and left to the kitchen. Unsuprisingly, ice was about the only thing left in the place.

He heard Hal hurrying to throw on some clothes without injuring himself further, still clutching his skull. So the man could swear and rage with a damaged brain, but not so much dress himself.

Bruce decided to wait in the kitchen for him. All of about ten minutes had passed before Hal was able to finally find some clothes, put them on somewhat correctly and stumble into a kitchen chair mumbling - even still - at the ice Bruce handed him.

Bruce frowned. He had bothered to do this in person and out of armor. Maybe it was more trouble than it was worth. 

'Yeah, don't even try to psyche yourself out now. You know why you came to him in person. - At night - unannounced - through his window - hours after he had returned from his mission with Kilowog - a mission you were aware of - you wanted him unbalanced. And by the way, don't pretend you're not hopeful. Even to yourself. In fact, you're a bad liar; especially to yourself.

'Even so, I'm reconsidering my initial criticism at my original plan.'

'Your original plan was to continue to ignore him and try to forget anything ever happened. Of course, this aside from your sexcapade. And wasn't that just the retrospectively worst - period - ever - period - decision - period - you ever made - period. I'm sure you would love to reveal that little nasty after a confession and apology.'

Bruce gritted his teeth. 'It's not going to matter anyways. I know how he's going to react. There is no scenario where I am happy. This will have to suffice.'

'Beautiful.'

'What.'

'That's what he used to call you. Not as a simple adjective either. Don't forget when you start to try to bail.'

Bruce realized he had been leaning back against the counter, staring at Hal and his injured head, doing nothing.

Hal had finally stopped cursing and started taking an interest in Bruce.

"You're not in your suit," Hal observed.

"This isn't work related."

"You're not in either of your suits. Street clothes look good on you." Hal blushed at that last; he hadn't realized he had said it out loud.

"I know."

Bruce continued to stare unblinking. Hal was unfazed and looked back - something fierce in his eyes. But he put the ice down and looked away with a loud sigh.

"Bruce, I can't - " Hal squeezed his eyes shut. "Bruce I can't. I can't do ..... this," making a vague gesture indicating the space between them.

Bruce continued to stare at Hal who resorted to throwing his head into his arms resting on the table, ditching the ice, shielding himself from Bruce.

Clearly, this was a stupid idea on Bruce's part.

"Hal. I ......... I came to apologize to you." Hal looked up at that. He looked angry.

Bruce only cringed a little bit inside; Hal should be angry. "I ... wanted to say that. ... To you."

"Bruce, why are you sorry?" Hal shrugged. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I did something hurtful. To you."

It was Bruce's turn to look away - in shame. He could feel Hal's eyes burning into him.

"Yes. You did."

"I, ah, wanted to ... " Bruce didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't think - the air was too thick in here and his head started throbbing. The apartment started to feel too small; like the world had begun to shrink. And the floor was warping and the room was melting and eyes started stinging and hands started shaking and Bruce couldn't focus.

So he jumped out the window.

.........

Hal sat. 

He estimated it had been close to four hours since Bruce had made his spectacular retreat. He had hardly moved an inch. The ice had melted. His headache gone. It was really cold.

The man was an idiot, Hal decided. A lunatic. A complete and utter and total and downright bastard. 

Maybe he should cry. People tended to cry. It was suppose to even be a healthy outlet.

Or he could lie down and die.

Whatever the difference was between the two, he decided to do a little investigating of his own - a mental excercise really.

See, Hal realized that he had spent most of the six months they had had - sort-of-not-really-together - together distracted and anxious.

So. The thing to do would be to properly evaluate what exactly had been going on in Bruce's brain during that time; investigate the man himself. 

And why? 

Hal had no idea. 

Really? 

No, actually he was just really scared to admit that he was hopeful. Again. Still. Whatever.

As of yet, two parts fucked up. No parts happy. 

Hal's eyes narrowed and his fists tightened and that something kept burning. If he thought he had rid himself of or even learned to ignore it, he had been wrong. Even though he'd love to blame it all on the beautiful, bastard, batshit crazy caped crusading crusader causing catastrophe as he creeped and crawled into Hal's goddamn life - he couldn't. Couldn't deny the most infinitesimal chance it's potential to right the world and stop time.

'You're a sappy mutt.'

'Shut up.'

'Fine.'


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey, Dinah," Hal caught up to her down the hall from the conference room after another deadshit meeting.

"Hal, What's up?" 

He paused and thought about thinking about reconsidering. He had thought about thinking about what thinking about reconsidering would do and had decided it would be okay to think about what he had thought it would be like to think about reconsidering, but thought about thinking about reconsidering and decided to think about reconsidering what he had thought, which was confusing so he decided not to think - until he thought about maybe not not thinking and had to reconsider before his head blew up. 

"Ah, I was wondering ... um, I could really use your help," he stuttered out lamely.

Dinah looked unsuprised. "Alright, my office is -"

"Oh, no. Sorry, I mean -" he swalllowed "I need you to teach me ... to .... you know, fight."

She frowned and studied him.

"I've done all of the basic training with you and the Bat,and done some of the other stuff with Ollie and Bar, but I need .. I need more - I just want to learn, alright? And you're the best trainer and all, so..." he died a little bit inside at his lameness, "you know, whatever." 

Dinah smiled and chuckled a bit to herself - apparently being vulnerable and asking for help was funny. What the fuck ever.

"Hal. I didn't mean -" Apparently the last had showed on his face. 

"Hey," she said, grabbing his arm as he turned to go, "meet me in the training room in a few hours? Diana and Bruce have it for a while. They like to be alone and pretty much seal the place from everyone, but we'll talk there after they're done. I need to get a few things done anyways, but be there. Okay?"

Hal thought and considered and reconsidered and lamely grunted before pulling away.

....

"Hey, Supes, can I ask you something?"

This had been probably the stupidest and most critical part of his plan. Hal had thought about this part the most and decided that it just needed to be done. Nothing else would probably be big enough to solicit attention.

God, he hoped this wouldn't be as bad as he felt like it was going to be.

They were at a diner somewhere in Metropolis having a congenial fucking late lunch. 

"Sure."

"Are you straight?"

So, diving. 

Clark spit up the drink he had just put to his mouth and even some food too.

"God, that's disgusting. Would it somehow be offensive to someone if I thought that that little display right there was confirmation?"

Kansas man wiped his face and gulped down the rest of his drink before responding. 

"I'm sorry, what? Did you just ask me if I'm straight?"

"Hey now, no need to get defensive-"

"No, sorry, I just want to be sure I understand what you said."

"Okay then. Yeah, I asked if you're straight."

"Why?"

"Because I run a webpage dedicated to all things Superman and want to let your creepy, stalker, devoted fans in on all your secrets. And because I just want to know."

Super-Sputum raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms - umm, what the hell. Like Clark's stern anything had ever been remotely intimidating.

"It's a -"

"Don't give me any shit about Kryptonian shit. Here you are, on Earth. Are you straight."

So, diving.

Apparently the guy's super abilities included an incredibly arched brow and a super furthest-thing-from-threatening serious face. 

"No -"

Hal interrupted again, "Okay, because let's do something here, am I right? Don't tell me you don't feel the tension. You live nearby and I'm whatever you want tonight."

So, diving.

"Hal," Clark sighed, "I don't th-"

Hal interrupted the tin man - hah, pun - with an admittedly sloppy, shallow, desperate really, really desperate, kiss.

So, diving.


	6. Chapter 6

'Check.'

'Check.'

'Check.'

'Check.'

'Check.'

So Hal wasn't the most decisive of persons. Although, even regarding his record, Hal also wasn't the most impulsive of the League.

Sure, it could be said he was most prone to making the wrong decision, realizing it too late, and hurting himself in the process. But not ever so much more so that he should be the sole victim of Bruce's verbal shellacking.

Anyways.

Check. 

Now would be a simple matter of repeat and wait for a response. This could take months, maybe even years. Maybe this all was as bad an idea as he was desperately hoping it wouldn't be. 

Probably, it was. 

Which is how he found himself months later still being slapped around by Dinah and where the hell did she train? The woman beat his ass every session they sparred with seemingly effortless prose.

"You have to involve your brain as much as any part of your body when you fight, but not as an active element. Your body will respond virtually on its own, but the mental will strive to overtake muscle and instinct if it is too confident. You rely wholly upon your ring. Everything about that is confident, mental reaction. Of course, the ring itself is much more complicated than that; it is a living force capable of understanding you and responding to what happens to or around you. When you are left without your ring, you will need to mentally adopt the same attitude the ring has towards you: your understanding of what happens in the critical environment surrounding you must be based on your opponent, not any of your senses; essentially, awareness trumps thought, and instinct trumps reaction. And all of this must occur on an almost subconscious level in order to be executed effectively in spite of the body being infused with adrenaline and emotion."

They had been meditating for probably hours.

Hal had initially thought that meditation wouldn't be as helpful or as comfortable as it turned out to be. 

Suprsingly, he liked it. And had adjusted almost automatically to the steadiness of it. He didn't feel restless or repressed. He didn't feel bored or tired. He didn't feel relaxed, which was a little suprising, mostly because he had thought that that was the point of meditation. 

Of course, it wasn't. 

Dinah had shown no suprise at all. In fact, she seemed to know how it would affect him - expected him to learn it so easily. 

At first, the meditation was short and silent. Eventually, they took much longer and Dinah talked about some deep method of some meaningful something. It was a lot easier to listen when they were meditating than at pretty much every and any other time, which is probably why she did it that way, but he still missed things.

"There's something no one here can teach you, Hal."

"What?"

"The use of both your body and ring. There's that cheesy line about weapons being extensions of the body. The thing is, your ring is not only not entirely a weapon, but it is literally an extension, and not just of your body. I make only calculated observations, but those are apparent truths. If you want a simultaneous interfacing of body and ring, you're going to have to learn it by yourself. I must caution you against it, though. What I'm talking about requires, by nature, a certain degree of vulnerability and even release. The ring is a ring of power and that kind of susceptibility is dangerous, no matter how amicable the essence may seem."

"... I don't understand."

"I know. But you will and I feel obligated to warn you now."

He shrugged, "Okay."

It was an odd conversation. And definitely meaningful, but Hal couldn't figure out why. 

It was the only time she mentioned it. Looking back, she didn't seem unsettled or uneasy about it, but Hal remembered one inconsistency: that session had only been meditation and she hadn't spoken another word. 

Her first rule in training him had been that everything was at the pace she set and the rate she decided on and the way she directed. He had accepted without question that and everything else that happened during their sessions.

So that day was as acceptable as any other. 

.........

What wasn't acceptable.

His plan wasn't filling out so well. In fact, it seemed to be thinning by the hour. 

And the last piece wasn't fitting in so well.

Well, the last piece wasn't even a piece. It was an idea. A necessary one. But hardly palpable at the moment. 

So Hal waited for the right moment. 

Which would have been fine. 

Waiting was fine.

But. 

He kept waiting. 

And waiting. 

And waiting. 

And... 

Waiting.

So still burning. 

But not nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been forever.
> 
> I've been forever.
> 
> Trying to be finite is harder than you think.

Mutter.

Mutter. Mutter.

Mutter.

Mutter.

'It doesn't even feel like an English word anymore.'

Brood.

Brood. Brood. Brood.

Brood. Brood.

Brood.

'... that one too.'

Gotham.

'... ummm.' 

'It's not -'

'Weird?'

'That's what it is'

'Will you all shut up. I'm trying to work.'

'Didn't sound like a questi-'

'Phrased as command-'

'Remove doubt-'

'Instill-'

'Obedience?'

'Subliminal'

'Subconscious'

'Subhuman'

'Meta-Human'

'Superna - no.'

'Alien?'

'Foreign'

'Green'

'Nope. Dissociate.'

'Yup.'

'Yup.'

'Yup.'

'Yup.'

'... yup.'

'Can you shut up now.'

'Aaand we're back at the beginning! You know, you start to kind of lose it after 96 consecutive hours of work, maybe you should, I don't know, take a break.'

'... clearly we've had a breakdown of communications, men. That one-'

'-the rational, reasonable, understanding, compassionate, wise, and always right one-'

'- is screwing up the system. We're not supposed to-'

'I-'

'...'

'Anyways. Bruce. Bruce! Hey, it's me, the logical but not cold-hearted-bastard part of you.'

'Oh yeah? Who the fuck is everyone else?'

'Distractions from your distraction.'

'You.'

'Yes.'

'What the fuck do you want?'

'I'm thinking you're missing things.'

'I'm missing things...'

'YOU are missing things.'

'Like what-'

'Thought you'd never ask: Let's break the rules for a moment and consider Jordan.'

'No. That's problematic and systemically catastrophic. Can we please "consider" anything else.'

'I love how your questions aren't questions. Likewise, my suggestions, are not up for negotiation, this is objective scrutiny, not emotional wreckage. So calm down. ... Good. Jordan - whom we also like to call Hal or babe in our little head here of ours, don't be grumpy and listen - has been uncharacteristically bleak recently.'

'Bleak? He could seem odd for any number of reasons, usually a number of reasons most of which are incomprehensible because he is as unpredictable as he is insufferable and juvenile.'

'All of which is beside the point. Stop ignoring fact. You know you've noticed, you just don't want to admit it because you're as afraid as you are infantile and oppressive and self-assured.'

'You're wasting my time with this frivolous desperation, for god's sake give it up and realize that you are utterly and absolutely and completely and perfectly alone. Truly without equal in all things.'

'Again you've interrupted me to whine and complain. The only thing immeasurable about you is how much of an asshole you can be to yourself when you get angry.'

'Why don't we drop it. Like I said before. It isn't worth losing sleep over.'.

'You wouldn't be getting sleep anyways and I still haven't made my point about Jordan's odd behavior.'

'It doesn't matter, why can't you understand that it doesn't matter.'

'For the last time, don't interrupt me. We will discuss this before we get over it or there is no getting over it. Don't pretend you're being objective when you're just a terrified child worried he has feelings and disgusted that he might be human.'

'Fuck you. I AM objective: fear is acceptable, giving in to it is not -'

'So fear is fine, but doubt is not; faith and truth and the pursuit of meaning is not -'

'Please! Stop speaking of him as if though anything between us meant anything. It was clearly mutual pleasure, but only to the extent of physical need - physical weakness. And we will get over that, Bruce. You will get over it. You're a prude and a vain twat for trying to force me to acknowledge what you think is utter truth. Fuck you, and your idealism too.'

'Well, fine. Rot in hell you sleazy bastard. Have fun fucking people you hate to try and forget what you blindly and stupidly and incredibly condescend to casual sex.'

'Again. Why don't we drop it. Okay? Just let it go.'

'Fine.'

'I mean it. Let it go.'

'I said: Fine.'

'It's been a very long time and you're just getting older and more tired and more dangerously weak.'

'I said I'd drop it.'

'You're not a superhero, you don't have ideals, you don't live a life of superlatives, you don't care about those things and I don't care if Jordan is anything to you.'

'Bruce, I -'

'I don't care about him and I don't care about you. Can you grasp this one single subject? You're a smart kid, you'll figure it out eventually, but right now you need to get your head out of your ass and forget about meaningless sex. I don't care about Jordan and I don't care about you. I would love to never revisit this topic ever again and I would love for you to die in a miserable pit and I want to die in a miserable pit and I am a miserable pit and Hal shouldn't die in this miserable pit and I want to die. And I want to die. And I want to die. And I want to die. Can you please stop looping back to what I clearly know to be nothing. Hal is nothing, you are nothing I am nothing. Hal is the everything and I am nothing and I am nothing and I am nothing and I am nothing and it's my fault and I need to forget about meaningless sex and move on and die and die and die and die and can you please stop and stop and stop and stop. Why is it so painful, even when nothing is happening? Why am I like this? Why. Why. Why. Why.'

"Bruce."

"Why did he call me beautiful?"


	8. Chapter 8

Clark surveyed the damage.

Bruce had trashed the Cave. It was methodic, deliberate, relentless.

It was shocking and terrifying.

Of course, Alfred had contacted him immediately and he had come right away, but there was no stopping Bruce. For some reason he had seen fit to rig almost every piece of weaponry in the cave with an additional lead-lined, kryptonite-concealing agent.

Obviously precaution was precaution. Protection was necessary. Emergency is a preventable future. The paranoia evident in all of ... all of the carnage - it was more than caution, less than safe, and worse than lethal.

Clark had taken a beating trying to get to Bruce and even process what was happening. Of course no real harm was intended for Clark, but the sheer magnitude of it had been overwhelming - the idea that Bruce trusted himself so absolutely was jarring even though everyone assumed it.

In other news, Damian was away for some reason Clark had not asked for, Alfred had calmly and almost unworriedly collected the destruction's leavings and moved immediately to tend to Bruce, and Diana had been suprisingly uninvested. She stayed for only a few minutes before judging that Bruce needed rest, and both Bruce and himself might need Dinah when they could make time.

All in all, Clark was completely lost.

Both Bruce's and Hal's behavior had been askew since their break up - if that's what it even had been. Of course they were both rather well versed in concealment and containment, but, suprisingly enough, Bruce had been the first to crack - break even.

Bruce was not a suprising person; he had absolute rules and used absolute adjectives and had an absolute judgement. To see that he was absolutely as human and capable of breaking as everyone else was was unsettling. Clark hadn't realized that he didn't know Bruce so well, that perhaps their friendship was much more necessity than choice when it seemed otherwise. Clark himself talked often about anything around Bruce, there weren't many in the universes he could be open with and he found Bruce to be a great listener and even advisor in most things, but Bruce had never reciprocated the camaraderie.

Never had he imagined Bruce to be fickle or weak. No matter that Bruce was absent of super abilities or enhancements and modifications or whatever it might have been: it was not his weapons and tech and intelligence that was commanding, it was truly his personality and ambience. Bruce was schooled and skilled, as much in people as in combat as in all things. All of which served only to heighten Clark's unease.

He knew Bruce had, at times, met with Dinah, but he doubted if there had been any such meeting in the last year. He knew it would be intrusive to listen in, so he didn't. But Bruce tempted him in more ways than one, being his only friend.

Clark sighed and finished the clean up - disposed of trash, mended equipment, repaired the remains of Bruce - and returned to Metropolis.

.........

Obviously. The other relentless questions Clark had were completely disconcerting and incredibly unsettling as well.

Fucking Hal Jordan. 

What a wonderful and stupid man.

Like most people.

'Like most humans.'

'Like most people.'

The night at the diner was one thing, but the weeks after were an whole other charade and parade and fireworks show. 

What the hell?

He knew Hal and Bruce had been sleeping together, that they had broken up, that Bruce had had unreserved sex with gross people and stupid things, and that Hal had had sex with one stupid alien.

And that stupid alien was liable and responsible and guilty.

Which made the months of secrecy a real miracle seeing as keeping secrets from Bruce was impossible. 

'And you are unusually shitty at keeping secrets.'

'I'm intentionally open-'

'You're intentionally an idiot. You're unintentionally shrewd. Which is what makes you and Bruce different. And Hal too; turns out he's accidentally the douchebag where you're deliberate and he's actually a moron where you pretend. Bruce is all things for show, except not, and you aren't - except you're not. See?'

'Why do you think I'm not human?'

'Why do you think you should be?'

.........

And then the next night he met Hal again. More accurately: other body parts than their eyes made contact. There was stuff and stuff. And sex. Weird sex though.

Not kinky or freaky. Actually just weird. Raw and intense and ... short.

It was hard and fast. 

Good for a Kryptonian. Good for Clark. Good for Superman. Good for being good.

Which is what made it bad.

Hal obviously had no actual sexual drive for, well, sex in general. Everything about it was purely to benefit Clark and it was like getting a job done and waiting for results. Except Clark knew the results Hal wanted weren't the ones Clark initially assumed and he usually didn't first assume the shallow or obvious. In this instance there seemed to be a separate shallow and obvious reason; making one attractive and more likely if Clark decided he liked having Hal's body.

Actually, it meant having both Hal's and Bruce's.

Which wasn't bad.

It was really really good actually.

It just made him bad.


	9. Chapter 9

The poetry in his life was that he was who he was. When he came into contact with the Waynes, there was no forecast. Being who he was, a forecast was always, always, foremost. Foremost forecasts. Which foretold events as he knew they would play. The disconcerting rhyme was that he knew sides of war and walked faces of peace - and he generally threw the dice himself. That his rule was not only broken, but altogether given up was meter. Which he stepped to and immediately adopted.

|Beat|

'Oh. It's raining.'

|Beat|

There was really no assimilation to be made when transitioning into the life he now lived. Actually, there was no adaption in any of the abruptions, accelerations, diminutions, or nuances to the life of the Waynes. Nothing about his disposition was impossible to match.

So Alfred Pennyworth was either incredibly boring and unambitious, or he was some other something.

|Beat|

'It must have been raining for hours. I didn't even hear the thunder.'

|Beat|

He knew Bruce's reactions had nothing to do with what Superman was sure to assume and that it was hardly a disservice to so gratifyingly insist on the man's distance for a while. 

So nothing then. The curse of Bruce's being. Being the opposing force on the side of the immovable was ... whatever probably. 

|Beat|

'No windows were open. No warnings. Nothing.'

|Beat|

Bruce was ... like the shadows that burn after shocking light blinks into existence. The opposite of fire. The comparative institutional philanthropy of a boring era of human greed was severely lacking. That a time of heroes was imagined before it became necessary reality seemed to instill fiction's push into science. The genesis of the thought was hardly a worthwhile venture once made.

Bruce was in his bed.

Crying, actually.

Sweating and crying and shaking. 

|Beat|

'The sweat is sad.'

Finally, Alfred felt the thunder as it flashed. And he saw light as it broke.

Working as he did, with the history he had ... it was not uncomfortable. In his youth he tended to take change with a shrug and disaster with a sigh. There was an odd background that lacked in the way of belief in his life; he hardly had made much effort in faith. At least not in gods. Any wisdom he had gained was the result of work and scrutiny not the other things pious nothings chased. Although, his attitude was hardly egalitarian.

Any attempt to fake the gratitude of lesser ignorance was obvious so he knew better than to be so stupid as to be grateful for his life.

|Beat|

'The crying is angry.'

Alfred wasn't a careful listener, but he did hear most of what was not said in the movements of the house. This made consistency easy. It made cruelty sympathetic to anonymity and logic immaterial. Actually, Alfred's existence was adjectival, which was life-giving when the Waynes were soldiers of art and history; it was deprecating when Bruce was a knight of every table in Gotham and especially that foremost table in the Watchtower. Actually it made Bruce's table with Alfred one of equals. 

Of course Alfred would never take a seat. 

Bruce often did.

|Beat|

'The shaking is shaking.'

Inward sighing was such a curse.

Ever silent, Alfred placed a remedy for shaking on the nightstand with a glass of water, no ice.

Ever present, he gave time for the sweat and made patience out of breath.

For tears. ... He had tears.

Supposedly the intensity of being was entirely dependent on the degree of being. Not a paradox or oxymoron. Just a stupid phrase. 

|Beat|

'It's still raining.'

|Beat|

He wiped his brow with a cloth.


End file.
